Posts for June 7, 2018 (page 6)

A.
She says my eyes look like the globe
from behind rose tint.
B.
Lillys for irises, poppies in my stomach, roses from my bleeding mouth.
I twist and turn until it takes hold;
Like a cathedral, arching in agony, all windows stained.
I’m lying on a bed of my own feathers,
Plucking them out as fast as they can grow back.
I’m writhing like a skin shedding serpent,
Removing as much of that old self as possible.
C.
When I emerge, finally clean, but for the blood,
I’ll keep those globes for her,
And maybe she won’t need rose tinting to see it.

the strings you pull are tight restraining my breath, breathe
you repeat the words like a mantra, 
is this love love. are strings
meant for necks? or arms
are they strong enough
to catch my fall
hang me like a
noose, or will
they break.
will i slip
through
the 
cra
cks
dee
per
into, 
love
love.
the 
cr
ac
ks
are 
slim, 
but i
am 
slim
mer.
i 
s
l
i
p.

Who am I to crush the blooming flower?

Who am I to refuse to walk the dark alley, when I crave to know where it leads?

Who are you to not heed my warnings?
Lain before you so beautifully: the ugly truths, dressed in flowers and satin.

Weather didn’t allow
for mowing the backyard last week. 
It will look terrible I moaned and griped.
This morning I was delightfully surprised.
Four baby bunnies feasting on the tall grass.
The smallest kept disappearing in the high clover.
Guess I shouldn’t complain so much, 
just wait to reap the blessings.

the soft brown leather
like my little bible / her
knees caressed open

to fondle the spine
the thumb strumming through pages
kissing the loose leaf.

baby robins prick summer air
with a start from an outgrown nest-
their tiny bodies, downy fair.
the morning light lends warmth
to these small wings newly aware
of that symphony soul emerges.
they hold unsuspecting grasps midair
as an echo of circles peal with zest-
two claws snatch dew laden grass fare.

              Villanelle of a sort for Guatemala

The ash falls from Volcan de Fuego; its lava flows away.
The ashes come down from the sky on Guatemala, on you,
I hear how that is so, and how the unlucky dead must stay 

beneath the piles of searing downfall that do not play
classical piano tunes upon a heart. I wear no mask like you
must should you go outside the house today.

The burning of my heart does not go astray;
it does not cool in the morning dew
that formed on brown grass by the highway.

I cannot write the eruption away,
for it must take its course until that course is through.
The lines I write for you may also go astray

or be unread, unchanged, may simply go away
when this page is consumed through and through.
Its words will silent drift where the buried stray

and someday bring these words written back to play,
as romantic words a lover might sing to you
about the ashfall of Volcan de Fuego that fell away
and the unlucky voiceless may have their final say.

They told the judge
I sat before an open fire
Fell right into it
But wasn’t a hair on my head singed.  

They recalled my vision
A prophetess wearing clothes
The color of rotten grasses
She ground sage to a fine powder
They said I put it in their tea
Told them to drink
And be sanctified
Said their throats burned       
Claimed they could not speak.  

The minister said he’d seen many
Slain in the spirit but not me
Said I was different
That he felt directed to sign
As witness.

Progress destroyed front porch hospitality,
Sunday drives in the country to see kin,
Thick newspapers and card catalogues.
 
These I’ll forgive or forget, whichever comes first,
But woe, it was first the wagons, then the elephants,
Followed by the clowns and ringmaster.
 
The cruelest stripe was the last day of the circus.
Circus that gave us dreams that made us some
Of what we could never be and gave more than it took.
 
Oh yes, we have clowns, call them re-poli-crats,
Elephants, too, cloaked with overblown egos
Eating not hay, but hope and dreams and tomorrow.
 
Romans with their appetite for gore had circus,
Even gypsies lent their wagons to circus,
Ringling, Barnum, Bailey, Howard all of them
 
Had circus, but today not me, not anyone left
Has the respite of circus, unless you count Foxes
Cables and fake news.Lots of circus there, but
Alas, no cotton candy, sawdust or calliopes,

We walk run cycle tricycle in the same direction,
following the counter-clockwise loop

A little girl on a bicycle circles back to her family
A toddler screams to be let out of his stroller

A couple talks as if they’re the center of the universe
He wants to lose weight and she loves lattes

Dogs track paw prints from the wading pool
Two wait for outdoor yoga to end

I brush away a tic attached to my arm
A red-winged blackbird hides in a bush

Horses swish and twitch at flies
The shaggiest grazes without looking up